


Obedience

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Control, Forced Incest, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone from the boys' past resurfaces with a plan to keep Sam for himself, but when he catches Dean in his trap instead, his plans change, and he uses one brother to catch and break the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Okay, it looks like I might be a few days here." Dean said into the phone, his eyes scanning the street. "No one's talking."

"Alright, I'll finish up here and meet you at Bobby's in a few days." Sam replied.

"Right. A few days." Dean closed the phone and sighed. The whole job was starting to smell a little fishy. They had separated the day before when it became obvious that they couldn't get to both jobs fast enough together. Sam had gone north to deal with an angry spirit and Dean had come east to track down what at first glance should have been a pretty simple haunting.

Only problem was, no one in town seemed to be willing to talk about it. He frowned down at his phone before shoving it in his pocket. It was clearly going to take him longer than he'd planned. He looked up at the old hotel in front of him and sighed.

He was tired, he'd been driving most of the night and got straight to work as soon as he'd gotten into town. He needed to get a room and sleep.

Dean opened the door of the hotel and smiled at the clerk. "Afternoon, I'd like a room." He picked through IDs and matching credit cards in his wallet, handing them over. He drummed his fingers on the counter as the man took his information. Something had him on edge. His eyes scanned the worn and dingy lobby, but nothing stood out.

Eventually, he got his room key and nodded to the clerk. Something wasn't quite right…but he could figure out after some sleep.

 

***

 

Sam looked up from his research as Dean thudded into the room and dropped his duffle bags on Bobby's kitchen table. Dean didn't say a word, just stomped to the fridge and came out with a beer.

"So?"

"So…what Sammy?"

"How'd it go?"

"There was a ghost, now there isn't." He dragged a chair out and sat, though he seemed on edge, uncomfortable, and he stood almost instantly to pace. "What's next?"

"Still looking." Sam replied. "There's a case in Montana, looks like it could be vampires, but I'm still looking."

"Sounds good. Let's go." He reached for his bag, then stopped as if remembering something. "After I do some laundry. Everything I own is covered in mud."

Sam shook his head as Dean headed to Bobby's basement with his clothes and turned his attention back to his computer.

"I hear Dean come in?" Bobby asked as he came in from the study.

"Yeah, he went down to start some laundry." Sam replied.

"Everything all right?"

Sam shrugged. "Other than how amped up he seems, yeah I guess. Said it went okay."

"Just got off the phone with a friend near the town you're looking at. She's convinced you're looking at a single vampire, probably one who's pretty young and without a pack, it's just tearing shit up."

"She? Close enough to deal with it?"

Bobby snorted and pulled a beer from the fridge for himself. "Close enough, sure, but she's wheelchair bound after her eighteen wheeler did cartwheels a few years back."

"So I guess we're up."

"It's you or me." Bobby replied.

"No, we'll go." Sam sighed. "As soon as Princess Dean is done with his laundry."

"I heard that." Dean appeared at the basement door, swallowing the last of his beer. "So vampires? We can do that."

 

***

The vampire in question turned out to be a fifteen year old kid that was harder to corner than they'd expected, and harder still to put down. At least for Sam.

In the end, it was Dean who did the deed, taking the kid's head with a guillotine of sorts in a window in an old abandoned building.

"Pizza?" Dean asked as they closed the hotel room door behind them.

"Nah, not hungry." Sam said, shaking his head. He collapsed onto the nearest bed.

Dean paced. "I'm gonna go grab a beer or something."

"Yeah, okay." Sam responded. He wasn't going to tell Dean he didn't need booze, hell maybe he'd get lucky, get laid, and burn off whatever energy had been riding him since he'd gotten back from the ghost job in Iowa.

Sam was half asleep as the door closed, kicking off his shoes and pulling the cheap motel comforter over him.

Somewhere in the small hours of the night, he heard Dean come in, smelled cheap booze and sex, and Dean mumbled "love you Sammy" before crashing into the other bed.

It was unsurprising that Sam was up first the next morning, or that he got in a run and a stop for breakfast and coffee before Dean had even opened his eyes. He put the take out on the small table as Dean squinted up at him.

"Fuck. What time is it?"

"Almost nine, sleeping beauty. Coffee?"

Dean reached for it blindly. Sam put the cup in his hand and went back for his own. "I got you pancakes."

Dean shook his head lightly. "Just the coffee."

"Suit yourself." Sam opened the Styrofoam container and lifted one of the pancakes. "You got back late."

Dean sort of grinned. "Was having fun. You should have come along."

"One of us has to sleep." Sam countered around his mouthful of pancake. "We should probably hit the road."

"I'm not getting in a car with you until you shower. You smell like gym socks."

Sam smirked. "You're one to talk, you smell like hooker."

Dean threw a pillow at him. "She wasn't a hooker." He frowned a little bit. "At least, I don't think she was." His face brightened and he grinned. "And if she was, she didn't charge me, so I'm good."

Sam threw the pillow back at him. "You may be good, Romeo, but you still stink. Hit the showers."

Dean pulled the sheets off of him and stood and Sam blinked, then looked away. His brother was stark naked and sporting serious morning wood. Dean didn't seemed phased by it though and just strolled through the room into the bathroom.

"Wow." Sam mouthed to himself, trying to shake the image. He hadn't seen his brother fully naked since…well, he couldn't remember the last time. He pulled clean clothes from his bag and set about packing them up. By the time Dean was out of the shower, Sam had them ready to hit the road.

Dean came out of the bathroom on a plume of steam, cheap motel towel covering him. “Leave any hot water for me?”

Dean slapped his ass as he passed, chuckling as he went to get dressed. Sam shook his head. Obviously Dean was feeling better, though that meant a long drive with his mullet rock blaring ahead of him.

Sam showered off the now dried sweat from his run quickly and dressed before coming out of the bathroom.

“Got us a job south of here, Sammy, lets go.”

 

 

***

Dean dropped his brother on the bed, furious. He left him there and went back to the car for their bags, grabbing their emergency med kit and slamming back into the room.

He was more angry than he probably needed to be, and Sam was _hurt_ , but damn it all it was his own fucking fault.

“Take your pants off.” Dean growled.

“Dean—“

“Or so help me Sam I’ll tear them off.” Dean dropped the kit on the bed beside his brother and went to wash his hands in the bathroom sink.

“Dean, I said I was sorry.” Sam said as he came back out.

“Stop. Back up.” He pulled the rickety chair away from the table and sat, lifting Sam’s bloody leg up to look at the gash. “You were sloppy. You were slow. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I…” Sam shook his head. “It just came at me so fast.”

Dean reached for the med kit, unrolling it. He didn’t want to hear excuses. “I’m gonna have to stitch it. You want something?” Sam didn’t answer and Dean looked up at him, exasperated. “You want to suffer through it Sam, fine.” He wasn’t sure why he was so upset. It wasn’t that serious a wound, and Sam had killed the fucking thing, but the anger coursed through him hot and heavy.

He clenched his jaw and set about cleaning and stitching and bandaging his brother’s leg, ignoring the hissing and sharp intakes of air as Sam rode out the pain.

When he was done he pulled Sam’s boot off and leaned down for the other one. “Get some sleep.”

“Dean—“

He held up a hand to stop him. Somehow the sound of his name on Sam’s lips was enough to make him want to punch him in the face. “Sleep. We’ll head for Dayton tomorrow. By the time the lunar cycle hits you should be up to hunting again, and we missed that son of a bitch last month.”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He wriggled around until he was under the sheets and comforter and closed his eyes. They’d been on a tear for almost six months, racing from one hunt to the next with hardly any downtime. Maybe Sam just needed a break.

Maybe after the werewolf in Dayton they’d head back to Bobby’s, take a few weeks off.

Dean shook his head and fished a bottle of Jack out of his duffle. The anger cooled a little as he watched Sam sleep, or at least pretend to. He’d been off for the last few weeks, since the dislocated shoulder and concussion in Provost. Sluggish and slow, hard to get moving in the morning.

His research had been less than accurate and took him longer. He disappeared a couple of times with no word, gone for hours and when he came back he wouldn’t say where he’d been.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think his brother was hiding something. Dean took a swig from the bottle. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to look at the text message, nodding to himself. He needed more than a drink if he was going to face a long silent drive with his moody brother the next day.

He grabbed the hotel room key and headed across the parking lot to the bar. Maybe he’d get lucky, find some pretty thing with a warm bed to share.

 

***

 

Dean let himself into the room, already irritated when it was clear Sam was still sleeping. His body was pleasantly sore from a night of animated fun with two girls he could barely keep up with. He’d woken up alone in a room a few doors down, showered and he’d even stopped in the little diner next to the bar for coffee.

He put the coffee down on the table and moved to wake Sam, stopping short, his hand hovering over Sam’s shoulder. The bottle of pain pills that had been in the med kit was open on the nightstand. Open and empty.

Alarmed, Dean shook Sam hard. “Sammy? Wake up.”

Sam rolled over, his eyes opening slowly, rolling up until they sort of focused on Dean’s face. “Dean? What…what time…” He rubbed at his eyes with one hand and struggled to sit up.

“How many of these did you take, Sam?” Dean asked sternly, frowning hard enough his forehead hurt.

“What?” He looked at the bottle now in Dean’s hand. “I…” He shook his head. “One. Around midnight. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Sam, the bottle is empty. How many did you take?”

“I told you. I took one.”

Dean fumed, pacing away to the end of the bed then coming back. “There were at least ten pills in this bottle last week.”

Sam was frowning as he swung his legs to the floor. “There were…I don’t remember…” He stared at the bottle, then shook his head. “I took one. Just one.” He reached for the bottle of water that had been on the night stand, taking a big swallow. 

That would explain a few things. Dean turned away, throwing the bottle toward the trash can. If Sam had been taking pain pills behind his back. 

“Dean-“

“Don’t Sam. Just get dressed.”

Sam limped into the bathroom after grabbing a pair of jeans out of his duffle bag. Once the door was closed, Dean grabbed his brother’s bag, rummaging around the rolled up socks and underwear until his hand found a plastic baggie. 

He closed his eyes as he pulled it out, not really wanting to know…but needing to. His hand closed around the bag and he held it for a second before exhaling and opening his hand and his eyes.

Blue pills and white pills and little pink pills half filled the bag. Dean shoved the bag into his own pocket. He had to admit, it was surprising given the way that they lived that either of them had reached adulthood without a problem with drugs. They knew how and where to score them, kept a supply on them for emergencies, and they certainly got hurt often enough to legitimately need them.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t drink too much. 

But this was different. This could get one of them killed.

***

Sam knew his brother was pissed. They'd hardly spoke the entire drive into Dayton and Dean had disappeared as soon as he'd gotten them a motel room and made sure Sam was in it, his leg elevated on a couple of pillows, two bottles of water and the TV remote on the nightstand.

Dean pointedly left him nothing else. He didn't even bring in the duffle bags.

Sam was half surprised Dean didn't take his shoes to make sure he couldn't leave the room. Not that he planned to. His leg wasn't really up to much more walking than to the Impala and back…though Sam could already hear the engine of the Impala as Dean took off.

He wasn't sure what was going on, and honestly, it was starting to scare him. He was dizzy and tired all the time, he couldn't focus, he was clumsy. 

He knew what Dean was thinking…especially with the pain pills disappearing…and Sam had to admit, he'd think the same thing in Dean's shoes. The problem Sam was having was that he knew he hadn't taken them.

Or at least, he was pretty sure.

Except, he distinctly remembered that there were at least two or three left in the bottle when he'd taken one to dull the pain in his leg…and he'd been alone in the room…and if he hadn't taken them, where had they gone.

And, as they drove, Sam had gotten more and more sick, like a junkie who couldn't get a hit. He'd done his best to hide it, but he was sure it showed. He was clammy and sweaty and shaking when they'd pulled off at a rest stop, and Dean had let him struggle to the bathroom on his own.

When he made it out, Dean was asleep in the back seat. 

Sam didn't sleep though. He'd wanted to…but his stomach was all twisted and his head was pounding and what he really, really wanted was something for the pain. 

Instead, he pounded down the bottle of water Dean had given him…and he paced as much as he could on his leg. He laid down in the front seat, with his head on the passenger side and his leg up on the steering wheel, but he was too damn big and it was too uncomfortable and so he'd gotten back up and had gone to lay on one of the tables, staring up into the sky while Dean slept.

The next day was much the same. Sam dozed a little in the car in the hours just before Dayton, but it wasn't really sleep as it much finding a zone where he wasn't thinking and couldn't feel anything but the steady drone of the car.

And now, here he sat, exhausted and yet wired.

He turned the TV on and flipped through the channels, trying to focus enough and finally just leaving it on some dumb infomercial. He turned the volume down to almost nothing to ease the pounding in his head and hoped the flickering of the screen would be enough to lull him to sleep.

He cracked open one of the bottles of water, apparently Dean's solution to the problem was to properly hydrate him…or possibly make him have to pee, meaning he'd have to walk on the leg…but his brother was angry, not cruel.

He was thirsty though, and the water was cold. It felt good, soothing almost…and within minutes he'd drained both bottles. He flipped channels again, ending up on some movie that was nearly soft-core porn. 

Sam drifted off to the sounds of two girls moaning.

Even in his dreams he couldn't escape fighting with his brother, bickering and slamming doors, with Dean walking around naked, his dick hard and bouncing when he walked…but then his dream turned strange and there were sounds like sex…like someone getting a blow job…and then that someone was him and he was naked on a bed and he couldn't move anything but his head…and when he lifted his head to see, it was Dean who was sucking his dick and not being very gentle about it either.

Sam tried to reach for him, to stop him, but his arms were too heavy to move and his cock was thick and hard and ready to blow, and then he was coming, Dean's hand milking him, his come spilling onto his groin and stomach and even after Dean let go it kept leaking streams of heavy fluid.

He tossed and turned and finally woke, dizzy and unfocused, but clearly aroused. Dean was asleep in the next bed. Sam pulled a hand through his hair and sat up, frowning as he realized he was naked and under the sheets. He didn't remember getting undressed.

Glancing at Dean's bed, Sam peeled back the sheet. His dick was more than half hard and his stomach was sticky with come.

As if he wasn't fucked up enough already. 

He pushed himself upright, hobbling to the bathroom to clean up. It had to be a part of whatever was wrong with him. That and Dean's sudden need to walk around naked. 

Sam shut the bathroom door and started the shower. None of that was comforting though. Something was seriously wrong with him. It was starting to scare him. The full moon was only days away, and Dean needed back up…not a fucked up little brother who dreams about…the fucked up shit he was dreaming about.

He pulled the bandage off his stitched up wound. It was still angry looking, red and slightly swollen, but not hot to the touch. He should cover it before getting in the shower, keep the stitches dry.

Obviously, Dean had thought of that. On the counter by the sink was a plastic bag and the roll of adhesive tape from the med kit. With a sigh, Sam sat on the toilet and wrapped his leg in plastic and tape before easing into the shower.

He scrubbed himself clean, purposefully not thinking about what could be wrong, or what Dean was thinking, or why, despite everything, he was still hard. That was harder than the rest as his hand brushed over his cock. It had been ages since he’d been with anyone, and even just taking himself in hand had been a while. It wasn’t easy to do when you lived in the same space as your brother and alone time was seldom really spent alone.

His soapy hand curled around his cock and he bit his lip to keep the moan from escaping. The water beat down over his head as he stroked himself…and maybe he’d come in his sleep, but that didn’t seem to be keeping him from getting close again. He closed his eyes and kept sliding his hand up and down, trying to get to the end before his brother wondered what he was up to.

Dean’s face filled his mind…the face he’d seen in his dream, his brother’s lips stretched around Sam’s dick, his eyes pinning Sam down, filled with anger as he dragged his mouth up and slid down again. 

Sam came explosively, the stream slapping against the tile wall as Sam panted. He was shaking as he washed the evidence away, disgusted at himself. 

Dean was right. There was something very wrong with him.

***

“You all right?” Dean asked as he caught up with Sam.

Sam nodded, but didn’t speak. The werewolf was dead at his feet, blood from his latest victim still covering his face and hands.

Dean grinned at Sam and clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. Sam shuddered and pulled away. “Don’t.”

Dean buried the growl. Things had been better. Sam was almost back to himself, except for the sudden prudish streak and the way he didn’t want Dean to touch him…and the way he said less than usual. But more normal in the research and functional ways.

Not that he was forgetting the pills. Sam had denied that they were his. There were secrets being kept and eventually they’d have to drag the whole mess out into the open, but none of it was anything Dean really wanted to face as long as Sam was functioning.

“Let’s go before the cops show up.” Sam said, already climbing into the car.

He couldn’t argue with that. He started up the car and headed them toward the hotel. The tension on the air was annoying him more than he wanted to admit. They should be celebrating. The fucking werewolf had been a nasty one, and it was the last night of the cycle. Dean flushed it from its latest kill, and Sam and dropped it with a single gunshot.

Instead, Sam sulked as he headed into the room, dropping onto his bed and kicking his shoes off.

“You going to tell me what’s got your panties in a wad?” Dean asked as he flipped open the lid on the box of pizza leftover from the night before.

“I’m tired.” Sam responded. It had become his standard response to almost any question any more.

“Okay, I get that. You should be for all the dreaming you’ve been doing.”

Sam stiffened, his eyes darting to Dean. “W-what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam said, getting up from the bed. He grabbed the bottle of water by his side of the nightstand and moved as far away from Dean as he could get and still be in the room.

“Whatever it is that’s got you all worked up, it’s fucking with your head…and you talk in your sleep. You always have.” First Sam would be awake for days, then he'd sleep like the dead until the dreams started. Dean had laid awake and listened every night all week as Sam fought with him in his dreams, and by the sound of it, the Dean in his head was kicking the shit out of him. "So out with it. Obviously you're upset with me. What is it?"

Sam shook his head and gulped down more water. "No. Just. Dreams, Dean. Just dreams. Don't mean anything."

Dean took a bite of a slice of pizza, then pulled his shirts off and tossed them on the end of the bed. "Dreams like that usually mean something, Sammy." Dean replied, unzipping his jeans and dropping them. "Is it because I got angry about the pills?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. "No. I don't know." He finished off the water and paced the few steps between the wall and the bed and back. "I mean…" He licked his lips and looked up at Dean. "I don't know…I think something's wrong. With me."

Dean turned to look at him, scowling. "That's what I'm getting at. What's eating you?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "Not like that." His hand pressed to one side of his head. "I'm…I'm fucked up. I think I might need…hell, I don't know what I need."

Dean took another bite of cold pizza and finished undressing, intending to head into the shower. 

"God, Dean, seriously?" Sam turned away and Dean looked down at his naked body. 

"What?" Dean asked. "It's not like you haven't seen it before."

"Doesn't mean I want to see it now." Sam countered. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm worried, and you're standing there naked."

Dean crossed the room. Sam cringed as he got closer. "I'm not going to hurt you." Dean said, frowning.

"I-I know." Sam didn't look like he knew that, one arm half raised to protect himself. 

"So what is it I'm doing to you in these dreams that's got you so fucking jumpy, eh, Sam?"

Sam's face was turning red and he was shaking his head, the water bottle crushed in his hand. "Just….leave me alone, Dean."

Dean reached for him, but Sam smacked his hand away and in a flash of anger, Dean hit him. Sam staggered back into the wall, lifting a hand to his cheek. Dean backed away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Sam sagged against the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor. It was clear he was done talking as he turned his face away from Dean.

"Suit yourself, Sam. I'm going to shower."

***

He didn't move until he heard the shower come on. Then, Sam slowly moved to the bed and pulled himself up onto his feet.

If Dean knew what he'd been dreaming…Sam shook his head. He was beginning to think that maybe he should just…leave. Get some space between him and his brother so he could think without Dean all over him.

The dreams had gotten worse, escalating from Dean slapping him around and the forced blow job, to what was tantamount to actual rape. Or it would, except in the dream Sam came every single time…and when he woke up, it was obvious it wasn’t just in his dream.

He woke up sore, his body clenched tight, his cock still hard…and then there were the bruises. Like the drugs and the memory loss and the lethargy, Sam couldn’t explain them. 

Except for that they corresponded to the abuse Dean dished out in his dream. The big spot on his ribs was just beginning to fade. In his dream, Dean had punched him in that spot repeatedly the first time he’d…and this morning he’d found deep, finger shaped bruises on both hips after waking up from a dream in which Dean held him down and raped him, his fingers digging into Sam’s skin. 

He couldn’t explain any of it, he just knew that it was fucked up.

He was fucked up.

And he was tired.

He sat on the bed to take his shoes off. He heard the shower turn off, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to get up and take his turn. He didn’t bother to strip out of his jeans, just took his jacket off, dropping it beside the bed as he laid down, his eyes closing. 

He heard Dean come out of the bathroom, felt him stand between the beds staring down at him. Anger radiated from him. Sam fought the urge to cringe away, just keep his eyes closed and go to sleep.

The dream snared him almost instantly, a flurry of fists and fury slamming him into a wall, Dean’s voice a snarl as he pinned Sam and stripped him naked, handcuffing his wrists behind his back before throwing him to the bed.

“Dean, please.” Sam pleaded, trying to crawl away. “Please don’t.”

“You need this, Sammy. You know you do.” His hands moved Sam easily, positioning him on his knees, legs apart, his face in the comforter which already reeked of sex. Something hard slapped across his upturned ass, over and over until Sam screamed, his body trembling. “You deserve this. You need to be punished.”

His stomach twisted, knowing somehow Dean was right. He did deserve it, need it. “You’re sick Sam. I'm saving you.” Dean said, his hand curling now around Sam’s erect cock and tugging down it dry, making Sam hiss out and try to pull away. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

He couldn’t deny it, not when the evidence was there in his brother’s hand. Then Dean was holding his hips, shoving into him and Sam was screaming again, screaming and coming. Dean finished and spanked him again…and then it was back to the fists and the wall…and it went on forever, in a loop.

“Sam.”

He pulled away from the hot hand on his face. “No. Dean…no more…can’t…”

“Sammy.” Two hands grabbed his face, held him still.

Sam opened his eyes. The weak light of the nightstand lamp made him blink up at his brother’s face. “Dean?” He was sweating and panting, and he hurt all over. Once again, he was naked, his cock hard, the smell of come lifting from the wet spot on the sheet. 

Sam shrank away from his brother, shame rising against the tears on his face. “Don’t…” He shook his head. “I…don’t know what…”

Dean sat on the bed beside him, naked himself. “It’s okay. It was a dream.”

Sam shook his head again. “I…I don’t think so.” In fact, he was kind of sure, because he could feel…something…he reached behind him with one shaking hand…his ass was sore and oozing. His hand came back with a pinkish fluid…and his wrist was marked…like he’d been fighting against handcuffs.

“You…” Sam pulled away from him, though there wasn’t far to go. “You…raped me.”

Dean was frowning at him like he was a lunatic. “Sam, I haven’t touched you.” 

He got out of the bed on the other side, despite his nakedness and Dean gasped. There were bruises on Sam’s chest and abdomen and thighs. “Sam, what the hell?”

It didn’t make sense. “Dean…you…in my dreams…you did this.” Sam inched down the wall toward the bathroom. “How…how…”

Dean stood, his expression changing. “Witch?” His concern was different now, like he finally had something to blame it all on. “How long?”

Sam couldn’t follow him. “W-what?”

“The dreams, how long?”

“I don’t know.” Sam answered. It was all a blur. “Couple weeks?”

Dean swore and took a step toward Sam, stopping when Sam cringed. “Fuck, why didn’t you say something?”

“You were so angry.” Sam closed his eyes, tried to think past the dream-memory of Dean forcing himself into Sam’s ass. “It was just arguing…and then fighting…and then…” The shaking was getting worse and his ass was dripping. “I’m going crazy.” He nodded to himself. 

“Are you okay?”

Sam blinked at his brother. What kind of question was that? 

“Physically?” Dean clarified. “Is anything broken, damaged?”

“I…don’t think so?”

Dean nodded. “Get cleaned up. Down time starts now. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

***

Sam dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to fight off the fatigue that threatened to make him sleep. He couldn’t handle more dreams. 

Dean paced behind the car, on the phone while he pumped gas. 

Sam hadn’t slept since that last dream, almost thirty hours.

Dean’s face was set and hard as he got back into the car. He had a bottle of water in his hand that he handed to Sam. “You should try to sleep.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You are so not fine. Here.” He pulled a ziploc bag out of his jacket pocket. It was filled with pills. “Knock your ass out, you won’t dream then.”

“You don’t know that.” Sam argued, opening the water and taking a sip.

“It’s the best I’ve got Sam. Look, you’re exhausted. Give yourself a fighting chance.” 

Sam took the bag, fishing out two of the pills. “What did Bobby say?”

Dean started the car. “He told me to make you sleep and get us back there.”

“Did you…” Sam licked his lips. “Tell him?”

“Not everything.” He pulled them back on the road. “Take the pills Sam. You should sleep the rest of the way.”

***

Sam pulled himself through the sluggish sludge of the drugs, fighting his way up from dreamless sleep into the dark that surrounded him. He wasn't in the car, or some motel room and this sure as hell wasn't Bobby's house.

He choked down the panic and slowly lifted his head from the cold concrete. It wasn't dark, he was blindfolded. His jaw ached, his mouth held open around something in his mouth.

He couldn't move much. He was on his knees and elbows, folded in on himself. Heavy leather restraints bound his arms together, from elbows to wrists, and something was bound around his legs and back, leather too from the feel of it. His ankles were bound and judging from the limited movement, the restraints were held to the ground somehow.

He was naked, he realized slowly…and he wasn't alone.

Someone was in the room. A hand ghosted over his bare back, over his naked ass. It touched him, rubbing over him as if it had every right, separating his ass cheeks, fondling his balls and cock. To Sam's dismay his cock was hard with the handling. He tried to pull away, to escape the possessive touch, but he had no where to go.

There was a heavy slap against his ass, then footsteps. "Fuck him. Hard."

Sam yelled into the gag and fought the restraints, but that didn't stop hands from pressing in against bruises already on his hips, holding him in place as a cock, barely slicked on lube at all, breached his ass, shoving in fast and hard. It was brutal, hands digging into his skin, the cock slamming into him…but then it was over and Sam panted around the gag, tried to hear the murmuring voices in the room.

The possessive hand was back, rubbing fingers into the come oozing out of him, smearing it over his skin before sliding down to grab his cock, jacking him hard enough that it was nearly painful, laughing as Sam spilled come. 

Then the room went quiet. Sam panted and lowered his head to the floor, trying to convince himself it was just another dream.

***

Dean remembered now.

He paced the tiny room, fuming with the memory. 

All of it.

It was his fault. 

He had raped his own brother. More than once. Fed him drugs, fucked with his head. Raped him.

His body shook, the smell of his own come still clinging to him. His stomach lurched and he leaned into the wall as he threw up. 

He could still hear Sam screaming around the gag, feel the tension in his body as he thrashed against the very effective restraints. His stomach seized again, but there was nothing left to bring up and Dean could only spit and hold his stomach as the feeling passed.

Dean exhaled and stood upright, stepping away from the small puddle. He stalked toward the door, but stopped at the white line two feet away. No matter what he tried he couldn't make himself step over the line, couldn't reach for the knob. 

"Fuck." He stalked away again, to the small bed that was the only furniture in the room. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Now that he was back here, where it started, the memory came without work. It had started when he and Sam had run into the bastard in a mini-mart on Christmas eve the year before. Sam remembered him before Dean had, though neither one of them could remember much more than a first name.

Jesse Clampton. 

Dean remembered it now.

Jesse Clampton had been a senior in the high school where they'd spent Sam's junior year. And up until that night in the mini-mart, that was about all Dean knew about the bastard.

Now though…now he knew that he'd had a crush on Sam. Not that he'd ever acted on it, though apparently he spied on him enough to figure out that the Winchesters were not your average American family…and sometime after they blew town, Jesse had discovered the occult…not surprising given the town he lived in and the area's history. 

And then they'd run into him.

Dean would never have even thought about him again, except for the fact that the bastard had set a trap for Sam…and had caught Dean in it instead. He'd gone to sleep in a motel bed on that job he'd done alone, and woke up naked, strapped down to an exam table about to get fucked up the ass.

When Jesse had finished he'd told Dean all about his elaborate plan and how Dean had fucked it up, but it was okay, because he'd spent the time Dean was unconscious altering it and now it was even better, because rather than just making Sam his mindless slave, he was going to have Dean break Sam for him and give him to Jesse like a gift.

And he had. Or nearly so. Sam was…close to losing it all together. It wasn't going to take a lot more.

Dean's hand dropped to his cock, his fingers searching out the mark. Clampton had pumped him full of drugs, that made it hard to think and made his dick hard and then the chanting had begun, and the searing pain as the brand burned into his skin.

It was a sigil, less than an inch around, burned into the base of his dick, underneath, where it wouldn't be easily visible even walking around naked and hard. The magic that went into creating it was ancient and powerful, binding him to obedience.

Clampton had sealed it with blood, cutting open his thumb and pressing it against the angry, hot flesh as he continued chanting, binding Dean not just to be obedient, but to specifically be obedient to him.

And then he had sent him back to Sam with orders to forget until he saw Clampton again. Over the next months Clampton called, directing Dean to be angry, to start walking around naked when they were alone, to drug Sam's water and his food, sometimes with sedatives or pain killers, sometimes with speed.

He showed up from time to time, calling Dean away, forcing him to submit to acts of sex, just to prove that he was in control.

Then came the night he demanded that Dean drug Sam deeply with sedatives and Viagra and let Clampton into the hotel room. He'd forced Dean to strip Sam naked and hit his sleeping brother before he'd sucked Sam's cock, all the while Clampton watched, fingering some medallion.

Clampton was never far away after that, and each night the abuse got worse. Dean had forced his cock into his brother's mouth, then he'd raped him, pinning him, restraining him and fucking his ass in a fury.

Each night, as Clampton left, he told Dean to forget it again, gave him other memories, false memories to hold the place of what he forgot. And then, when Sam was falling apart, Clampton had called him and told him it was time to come home.

Dean had driven all night while Sam slept beside him. Drove up into the warehouse and just…gave his brother over. He'd been forced to watch as Sam was carried into his prison, a room about the same size as the one Dean was trapped in, with no windows and just the one door with no knob on the inside. 

Clampton had ordered Dean to strip Sam and bind him, blindfold and gag him…and they waited. Once Sam was awake, Clampton had touched him, then grinned at Dean and told him to fuck him.

And Dean had.

Just fucked him. On command. The door opened and Jesse stood there grinning at him. His dark hair was slicked back and he'd shaved the facial hair he'd had when Dean had been here before. His black suit looked expensive as he leaned on the door, watching Dean.

"Sam's awake."

"Fuck you." Dean growled.

Jesse smirked. "Now, Dean. You know better than to try to piss me off. Kneel."

Dean fumed as his knees bent and he did as he was told. "That's better."

Jesse stepped into the room, shoving his groin in Dean's face. "Now, make me believe you like it."

Dean's hands moved of their own accord to his zipper, easing his cock out. Dean's mouth opened, his tongue sliding over the head and down the side before he took the cock into him, moaning as if he wanted it. 

Clampton chuckled, petting through Dean's hair. "Such a good boy."

He wanted nothing more than to bite the fuck down and relieve the bastard of his manhood, but he couldn't make his mouth obey, could only suck and lick over the damn cock like it was a fucking lollipop until Clampton was suddenly holding his head and shoving into his throat as he came. "Swallow."

Dean did as he was told, his face flushing with anger and humiliation. Clampton stood back and tucked himself in. "Very good. You're getting better at that. Time to teach your brother that skill. Get up."

He stood, huffing in frustration. 

"Lets just go over the rules Dean. Recite."

It was one of the bastard's favorite games, to make him recite whatever commands were currently programmed into him. Dean fought the compulsion, but Clampton snapped his fingers and Dean's mouth betrayed him. "I will be aroused whenever I see Sam. I will hurt Sam whenever he says my name. I will not tell anyone why I must obey."

"Very good. Come."

He stepped away and Dean followed, the only time he was allowed over the white line on the floor was at command, either directly from Clampton, or from one of his massive guards.

They moved down the corridor under the main floor of the warehouse, the level converted to serve Clampton's perverse desire to own the two Winchester brothers…though Dean suspected that he and Sam were not the only unfortunate souls currently being held there.

They stopped in front of a door with a window in it. Dean could see Sam, his arms bound and held over his head as he sort of squatted against the wall, his knees covering his nakedness. Bruises covered him and his head hung limply against his chest.

"Now then, you're going to go in there and make him suck your cock. Use whatever force is necessary to subdue him and come in his mouth."

The door was opened and Dean was shoved into the room. Sam looked up slowly, his eyes widening as he saw Dean. Blood rushed to Dean's cock, hardening it despite every desire to disobey. 

Sam blinked at him, his mouth opening, then closing again as Dean fought his orders. His first steps across the room were jerky, but as he lost the fight, his hand shot out and fisted in Sam's hair, pulling him away from the wall. 

"Dean, I—" Dean's fist tightened in his hair and Dean grabbed Sam's face with his free hand, squeezing until he could hear Sam whimper.

"Don't make me hurt you." Dean ground out from between clenched teeth, hoping he could make Sam understand.

Tears leaked out of Sam's eyes. Dean released his hold on Sam's face. He had to find a way to make this as easy on his brother as he could…but his options were limited. "Open your mouth."

Sam blinked up at him, very clearly not understanding. "Dean, please—"

Before he could even try to prevent it, Dean hit him hard across the face. Huffing out his disgust, he squatted down so he was on eye level with Sam. "Don't make me hurt you." He swallowed as Sam looked up at him, betrayal in his eyes. Dean closed his eyes and tried to reason his way past his orders. He licked his lips and looked Sam in the eye. "Say my name."

"Dean?" 

Dean punched Sam hard in the chest, then grabbed his face to make him look at him. "Don't make me hurt you, understand?"

Sam nodded jerkily and Dean echoed it. "Good. Now, open your mouth." Dean stood again, holding Sam's head by the hair with one hand and his insanely hard cock with the other. The compulsion to fulfill his orders was becoming urgent. Dean stepped closer as Sam's mouth opened hesitantly.

He bucked away when Dean got close enough to put his dick on Sam's lip, but he was largely pinned in place and it didn't take much for Dean to force his way in. He didn't try to fight as the compulsion took over and he shoved himself into Sam's mouth, even as Sam gagged around him. He moved fast, pressing Sam's head against the wall as he fucked him. 

When he finally came, Sam choked and coughed, spitting some of it out, though he swallowed a fair amount. Dean backed off, his anger filling him. He wanted to apologize, to tell Sam why, but he knew he wouldn't be able to.

He went back to the door and it opened, Jesse shoving a tray at him with two bowls, a length of black cloth and a ball gag on it. "Feed him like a dog, give him water. See if he needs to pee. There's a bucket in the corner. When he's done, chain him down to the floor. Blindfold him and gag him."

Dean swallowed and took the tray, moving back into the room. Sam eyed him suspiciously, not that Dean could blame him. He put the tray down and brought the two bowls closer to Sam. "Easy. I'm going to take your arms down."

His cock was still ridiculously hard being this close to Sam and it made the task harder for the distraction. He unhooked the leather restraints from the chain that hung down the wall, but left them connected at Sam's wrists. His hands were gentle as he could make them as they eased Sam to his knees. "Here, eat."

Dean put the bowl with what looked like grits or something similar in front of Sam, then put the water beside it. Sam shook his head, leaning in on himself, holding his bound hands in his lap. Dean petted over his brother's head, shrinking back when Sam pulled away.

"If you don't eat I'll have to punish you, Sam." Dean heard himself say, though the words weren't his own. "You don't want me to punish you."

The room wasn't a lot different than his own, but for the lack of even the bed. There were chains and pulleys above them, hooks embedded in the concrete walls and floors for tying Sam down in various positions, and on the wall by the door hung a variety of tools for punishment. 

Dean knew the touch of every single one of them.

He glanced at the door where he knew Clampton was watching him. "Please, Sam. I don't want to hurt you." Dean whispered, trying to put as much of himself into the words as he could. "Just eat a little of it."

Sam's eyes darted to the door and back to Dean and Dean nodded, hoping Sam could tell that this wasn't Dean's doing, that someone else was making him behave like this. Slowly, Sam lowered his head, his tongue moving to lap up some of the cold mealy mush. He made a face, but swallowed. After a few more licks, he moved his face to the water bowl, licking that up a little more eagerly.

"Good boy." Dean murmured, petting over his head. "Up." Dean stood, drawing Sam up with him and walking him to the corner bucket. "Pee."

Sam looked at him, horrified. "W-what?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his back. "Do it now, or you'll make a mess later."

"D-I can't."

Dean checked the door behind them, confirming that Clampton couldn't see them in the corner. He pressed himself close to Sam, putting his arms around him and holding him. "Please Sammy. Please. I’m trying…I can't…" His throat closed up around the words and he closed his eyes. "Please, just do it so I don't have to hurt you."

"Who…who's outside that door?" Sam asked, leaning back a little to look.

Dean couldn't answer him though. "It's going to get worse." Dean said softly instead, his hand moving up Sam's back. "Please Sammy."

"I don't have to go." Sam said, shuffling back away from Dean. "Tell me what the fuck is going on, Dean."

His hand shot out and backhanded Sam across the face, sending him staggering backward. Dean followed him across the cell, crowding him into the wall and grabbing his cock, squeezing until Sam stopped struggling. 

He used his hold on his brother's cock to drag him away from the wall and forced him to his knees. He reached with his other hand and lifted the ball gag from the tray. Sam shook his head, but with another squeeze, he stopped. Dean lifted the gag, shoving the ball into Sam's mouth and snapping it shut behind his head. Then he tied the blindfold on.

Sam struggled as Dean forced him down, stretching his arms up over his head and locking the restraints to an eye-bolt there. He moved down Sam's legs and secured those as well, leaving Sam helpless on the floor.

The door opened and Clampton came into the room with one of the big guards behind him. He was carrying a tray himself, though it wasn't food and water. Wordlessly, Clampton beckoned Dean away from Sam as the big guy knelt beside him. His gloved hands wiped rubbing alcohol over a spot on Sam's chest, just under the collarbone, then lifted a heavy needle.

Dean shook his head as he realized what was about to happen, but he could do nothing but watch helplessly as a thick section of skin was pinched up and Sam screamed around the gag as the needle was shoved through it. He thrashed against the restraints as the needle came out and a heavy silver ring was threaded through and tightened.

Clampton tugged on Dean's arm and gestured for the door. Once the door was closed, Clampton nodded. "Thank you Carl. That will be all for now. Take Dean to his room."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from the boys' past resurfaces with a plan to keep Sam for himself, but when he catches Dean in his trap instead, his plans change, and he uses one brother to catch and break the other.

***

At some point after Dean left him, Sam had dozed off…and when he woke he'd been released from the floor, the gag and blindfold removed. His hands were still locked together and a chain ran from them off along the floor. The room was dark, the only light leaking in from the small window in the door.

Sam crawled toward the wall, curling in as small as he could make himself. His fingers fumbled as he tried to look at the metal ring that was threaded through the skin of his chest. The skin was raw and red, and blood was dried at the edges. The ring was at least two inches in diameter, the metal thick. At least an inch of skin held it and it lay heavy against his chest. 

The pain of playing with it was enough to make him stop. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out what had actually happened…how they'd gotten to this place.

The dreams had been real somehow. Dean had raped him, beaten him. Dean had drugged him and brought him here. Told him he deserved it. That he wanted it. Dean was cruel, more than anything Sam could have imagined.

He replayed the last time in his head. Dean had come into the room, naked and hard. Sam could tell something wasn't right, and Dean's violence had only confirmed that…and then…Sam swallowed around the feeling of his brother's dick in his mouth, the taste of his come.

He had to force that aside and try to understand why. Dean had been trying to tell him something without actually saying it…and Sam wasn't completely sure what it was, or if it was all in his head…because Dean had…Sam bowed his head onto his knees and held onto the idea that Dean was being forced somehow.

Or maybe…maybe Dean was just trying to keep Sam from whatever fate it was their father had envisioned for him. Maybe this was ultimately the only way Sam didn't go dark. Maybe Dean was right. He deserved this. Wanted it even.

He bit into his lip until he tasted blood. He needed to focus. Stop feeling sorry for himself and find a way out.

Sam exhaled and pulled himself up. He was weak, the few swallows of whatever mush Dean had brought him was about all he'd eaten in longer than he knew…he wasn't at all sure how long he'd been here, or how long he'd been out in the car. 

He stood against the wall and looked around the room. He was naked, but for the leather restraints on his wrists and ankles. The room was cement and empty from what he could see in the dark. He knew from experience that the floor had at least a few eyehooks for tying him down, and the walls were no different.

He eased along the wall to the corner, where he found the end of his chain. He estimated it wasn't quite four feet long…and his best guess was that the room was six feet across. He couldn't even reach the corner where the pee bucket was, let alone the door.

Sam pulled on the chain in frustration, not that he expected it to give, but he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He felt his way down the chain, fingered over the link that was attached to the bolt in the floor. 

Light flooded the room suddenly and Sam ducked his head, squinting as the door opened. Dean filled the doorway and Sam got the distinct impression that there was someone behind him in the hallway before Dean stepped into the room and the door closed.

Sam licked his lips and looked at his brother. Like before, he was naked, his cock already hard. His face was set, angry. Sam lowered his hands to hang more or less in front of him and turned to face Dean.

"There are rules." Dean said, his voice clipped. "If you obey the rules, I won't have to punish you. If you do not obey, I'll be forced to hurt you."

"De—" He caught himself, remembering the last time. Whenever he said the name, his brother had caused him pain. "Tell me what's going on."

Dean lifted his chin and went to the wall by the door, where a number of instruments were hung. His hand closed around what looked like a riding crop and he came back to the center of the room with it.

"Rule number one, you do not speak unless you are told to." Dean wasn't looking at him and he hesitated as if expecting Sam to say something.

Instead, Sam inched closer, trying to gauge how to react.

"Rule number two, you do as you are told without hesitation." Dean looked up at him and Sam thought for a fleeting second that the look in his eyes was fear. "Do you understand?"

Sam stopped moving, still hugging the wall, and he nodded. He understood the words, if not why Dean was saying them. He looked from Dean to the door and back again. Dean nodded almost imperceptibly. Or maybe Sam just wanted to believe badly enough that he saw something that wasn’t there.

"I'm going to take care of you as long as you follow the rules." Dean said. His eyes held Sam's, but Sam couldn't read them. "Come here."

Sam hesitated, fairly sure that no matter what he did he was going to end up hurting. The riding crop slashed against his thigh and Sam jumped inadvertently closer to his brother. "Kneel." Dean's hand on his shoulder pushed him down, his face dangerously close to his brother's cock.

"Open your mouth."

Sam shook his head. Dean's hand pushed his head down and the crop came down three times rapidly across the top of Sam's ass. Dean's hand released him and he issued the command again. "Open your mouth."

His free hand grabbed Sam's chin and Sam jerked away from him. This time the crop came down over his cheek, splitting it open. Blood spilled hot over his skin as Sam turned to look up at Dean in shock. Dean's thumb pressed into his mouth, forcing Sam to open it. With no warning, Dean shoved his cock in, deep into his throat until Sam was gagging, his bound hands rising to try ineffectively to push Dean away.

His vision was starting to dance when Dean finally pulled back. He pumped in and out of Sam's mouth a few times before pulling back. "Rule number two, Sam. You do as you are told without hesitation."

He left Sam kneeling there and went back to the wall. When he came back he had a tube in his hands. "Head down." Dean shoved his head toward the floor in emphasis as he moved behind Sam. "Don't move."

Dean's hand skimmed over the naked skin of his ass and Sam jumped forward. He yelled as the crop hit him, another three times hard on his tender skin. "Don't move." Sam heard the tube open, then click shut and Dean's finger shoved into his ass.

Sam lurched forward again, rolling away, dragging the chain across the concrete floor. Dean lunged at him, his face contorted in anger and Sam barely managed to curl up to protect his face and stomach as the crop came down on him. He lost count of the blows before they came to a stop and Dean's hand was wrapped in the chain, yanking Sam across the floor.

"If you can't obey the rules, you will be punished." Dean pulled him up to his knees again and shoved his face to the floor, dragging Sam's restraint heavy hands out in front of him and attaching them to a bolt in the floor.

"Please…" Sam whispered, hoping to somehow get through. Dean kicked his feet apart and fastened each of them down, leaving Sam bent over, his ass exposed and vulnerable.

His finger returned to Sam's ass, sliding in on lube. Dean added a second finger, working him open, then a third…and all too soon, his fingers were on Sam's hips instead, holding him down as his cock took their place, shoving into Sam hard and deep. His hips pistoned in and out quickly. When he came, Sam thought he heard a whispered apology, but then Dean was gone again.

He returned shortly, a tray in his hands. He set the tray down and released Sam's hands, helping him to sit up. Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, his thumbs wiping at tears he hadn't realized he'd shed. "Eat." He lifted the bowl of lukewarm mush and put it in Sam's hands.

Sam was pretty sure he was more likely to be sick than actually eat, but Dean had gone back to the door, and when he came back again, he had a cloth and some water. He nodded at the bowl and looked Sam in the eye. "Don't make it worse. Eat."

Sam tore his eyes away and lifted the bowl. Dean ignored him in favor of the bleeding welts he'd left on Sam's hip and ass, dabbing at the blood with the cloth. Sam scooped the food into his mouth with one hand, trying desperately to ignore anything and everything but getting the food into him, obeying the command to avoid another beating. 

He got about half of it into him and put the bowl down, reaching for the water bowl. He drained it quickly. Dean's fingers grasped his chin and turned his face, the cloth working on the cut across his cheek.

"You've had worse." Dean murmured. He leaned in close, as if checking the wound. "I'm trying."

Sam didn't know what his brother meant. His eyes stole to the door, then slid to Dean's. "Please, just tell me why?" Sam whispered.

"Can't." Dean responded. "Love you."

He pulled away then, standing and taking the tray and the water with him, leaving Sam kneeling on the concrete, his feet still bound to the floor. The light went out as the door closed, and Sam was left in the dark.

***

"So, Dean, tell me how our boy is doing."

Dean gritted his teeth in an effort not to answer, even though he knew it was a lost battle. Clampton laughed at him, scrubbing a hand through Dean's hair as he knelt. "Answer, now."

"Sam is…fighting." Dean responded, hating himself. 

"He's stubborn, but then, I knew that." Clampton said. "Perhaps it is time to take this to the next level." He gazed in the window, watching Sam. "He has grown accustomed to our routine, I think."

A routine that was slowly breaking Sam down. If Dean didn't find an escape soon, Sam was going to stop fighting…and when that happened, Clampton would have won.

"Up, Dean. It's time to show your brother just how hopeless it all is." He pressed the blindfold into one hand and a leash into the other. "Recite."

Dean closed his eyes. "I will be aroused whenever I see Sam. I will hurt Sam whenever he says my name. I will not tell anyone why I must obey. I will service you with joy…m-master." He fought the word, but it came out anyway. 

With every passing day he hated himself more…not that he had any idea how long it had been…there were no windows here, no clocks, no glimpses of the world outside these walls.

Dean slept when he was told and woke when he was told…it was never fully enough sleep, and when he was awake Clampton had him abusing Sam or being abused himself. A week. Maybe two. For all he knew even longer.

"Go in angry. Say nothing beyond orders. Blindfold him, leash him, make him crawl into the next room." He held up the key to the chains. Dean draped the leash around his neck and took the key.

One of the burly guards opened the door and Dean entered the room.

Sam looked up from the corner, but didn't move right away. Despite everything, he was clinging to some hope that he could get through to Dean with his defiance. Rage bubbled up inside him, rage he knew wasn't his own, and yet could not control.

"Knees, here." Dean commanded.

Sam moved slowly, pulling the heavy chain that kept him tethered to the corner. He stood in front of his brother, biting his lip before slowly sinking to his knees. Dean covered his eyes, tying the blindfold tighter than he necessarily needed to before he bent to unlock the chains.

Dean took the leash from around his neck and clipped it to the ring pierced through Sam's chest. Sam stiffened, recognizing that something was different. "Crawl." Dean ordered. 

Sam pulled back, the still healing skin pulling. Dean tugged a little, enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath as the pain registered. "Crawl now." Dean started for the door, and Sam had little choice but to follow.

He was slow and hesitant, but with each insistent tug on tender skin, he moved, following Dean into the corridor. The door into the next room was open and Clampton waited for them.

It was clear what Dean was meant to do.

He stopped Sam in the center of the room and unclipped the leash, returning it to his neck. The two guards stepped in then, roughly attaching chains to each of Sam's restraints. Clampton flipped a switch on the wall and Sam was hauled off his knees, his arms spread out above him, lifting him until he was off the ground, his feet held so that his toes barely scraped the floor, and spread so that he was completely exposed.

Clampton pressed the handle of a long whip into his hand. "Twenty strokes should do it."

"D-Dean?" Sam's voice was shaky. Dean's hand landed hard on his ass, making him jump.

He wanted to say something to reassure him…which was ridiculous. Dean was about to beat him like some…slave. What kind of reassurance was going to help?

"Now, Dean." Clampton said quietly.

Dean clenched his teeth and took a step back. "No." He ground the word out, his stomach twisting around the command, around the compulsion to obey.

Clampton took the two steps toward him, one hand darting out to grab Dean's cock, his thumb pressing against the skin where his brand was burned into the skin. "You will hit him twenty times, and when you're done you will hold him while my boys here fuck him and then you will make him crawl back to his cell and you will lock him down for the night."

He released Dean and stepped away. Dean's hand twitched, the whip stirring on the floor at his feet…then his hand lifted and the whip cracked through the air. Sam cried out as a long, red line marked his back. Over and over the whip moved, leaving bloody trails over his back and ass and thighs.

About half way through Sam's voice cracked and by the time Dean was finished he was hanging limply from the chains. Clampton moved back to the wall, flipping the switch to lower Sam back down. 

Dean caught him as he sagged. Sam stirred, his face turning to find Dean. He unclipped the wrist restraints and held Sam, sinking with him to the floor. "Please." Sam whispered against Dean's chest.

The two brutes were already moving in to fulfill Clampton's orders and Dean found himself bending Sam over his knee, holding him while the first of them unzipped himself and pulled his cock out.

Sam moaned as he sank in, but made little other sound as he was fucked. He whimpered a little as the guard pulled out, and his hand gripped Dean's ankle as the second one took his place.

When they were done, they released Sam's ankles and backed away, leaving Dean to follow the rest of his orders. “I need you to stay with me, Sam.” Dean murmured, his eyes on Clampton. He pulled the leash from around his neck and attached it to Sam’s chest ring. “Hear me, Sam? Need you to follow.”

He stood and for a minute he was afraid Sam wouldn’t be able to, but slowly, Sam moved, crawling pitifully after Dean. Not a word was said until Dean had Sam back in his cell, the door closed. He took the leash off and knelt beside Sam, reaching with a shaking hand for the blindfold.

It was wet with tears. Sam didn’t look at him. Dean’s stomach twisted even tighter. “Please Sam.” Dean whispered. “Please.” But he couldn’t make himself say the rest, couldn’t tell Sam not to give up.

Sam curled forward, silent sobs quaking through him. His back was a bloody mess. Dean could feel Clampton’s eyes through the window. He had been told to lock Sam down, which meant no food, no niceties.

At least Dean could spare his back. “Here, Sam. Lie down here.” He guided Sam to lay on his side, his back to the door. Dean locked Sam’s hands to a bolt in the floor in front of him, then moved to his feet to secure them as well, leaving Sam more or less in a fetal position on the floor. He brushed a hand over Sam’s forehead before leaning in to kiss it. “I’m sorry.”

***

Sam’s face burned with shame as Dean’s hands gently cleaned him of the mess that came of being left chained to the floor for so long. He cried out as the hot water washed over the open welts on his thighs, cleaning the waste from them.

“Good boy.” Dean whispered, only adding to his humiliation. 

He’d been left with come leaking from his ass, come that he knew had not come from Dean, alone in the dark for longer than he could tell. His back was stiff with dried blood and scabbing, his muscles aching from the abuse and disuse.

Dean’s hand rinsed out the cloth he was using in the bucket of hot water and wiped through Sam’s crack, cleaning up the last of the dried come before moving over the rest of his ass. 

“Can you sit up for me?”

Sam didn’t respond, just shifted, pushing himself up. His ass protested, and he felt some of the scabs on his back break open. 

“Good boy.” Dean proceeded to clean his back and Sam bit his tongue as each pass of the cloth brought a renewed sense of just how torn up he was from the whipping. By the time Dean was done, Sam was trembling and whimpers escaped despite his desire to keep them in.

Dean moved to face him, one hand gently guiding the hair out of his eyes. His kiss was soft, lips brushing over Sam’s. As he stood, his cock was in Sam’s face, and despite his gentleness, Sam knew what came next. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth without being told. Dean caressed the side of his face and cooed words of praise as his cock filled Sam’s mouth.

“That’s my good boy.” 

It was easier this way…to give in…to accept what Dean was giving him…to believe he could be good. Dean thrust deep into him and Sam swallowed around him, fought the rising panic. His come was hot as it spilled over Sam’s tongue and he swallowed quickly to have it done.

“My very good boy.” Dean praised, going to the door and returning with the tray of food. Instead of the usual mush there was a bowl of broth. Dean sat on the floor beside him, petting his hair as Sam lowered his face to the bowl. His stomach rumbled as the smell of it filled his nose. It was weak and cold, but it was better than nothing. Sam drank it down, followed by the water. 

Dean cleared the tray, but to Sam’s surprise, returned. He squatted in front of Sam, his eyes catching Sam’s and holding. “There are rules Sam.”

Sam nodded. He knew the rules.

“Recite them.”

Sam licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Rule one.” His voice was scratchy from screaming and disuse. “Rule one, I do not speak unless told to. Two, I do as I am told without hesitation.” There were unspoken rules too. Sam had figured that out. He couldn’t say his brother’s name without getting punished.

Dean smiled and nodded. “Very good, Sam. I have a new rule for you. If you obey this rule, I will not have to chain you. You do not cross the white line without permission.” Dean pointed at the thick white line that was painted on the cement floor, dividing the room in half.

The door, the punishment tools and the toilet bucket were all on the other side of the line. “Can you do that, Sam?”

He nodded, looking up at Dean. This was as gentle as his brother had been since they’d come to this place. Sam wanted to ask a hundred questions, but he knew if he broke the first rule, this kind side of his brother would disappear.

Dean glanced at the door, then lowered himself to sit beside Sam, taking his hand and holding it. He seemed to be searching for words. “I want to tell you…can’t.” He closed his eyes. “Christmas eve, last year.”

Sam nodded. “We went to Bobby’s.”

“Before.” Dean kept his eyes closed, kept Sam’s hand in his.

Sam fumbled for the memory. They’d been hunting a ghost south of Bobby’s, ended up sore and out of pain meds…then drove hours on very little sleep. They’d been bickering more than usual before they stopped for gas an hour or so outside of Bobby’s. Sam licked his lips. “The stop? We bought Bobby a hat.”

Dean’s eyes opened and Sam could see something in them, Dean was trying to tell him something. Dean had tossed him the hat while he was paying for gas…and someone had come into the mini-mart. Someone who knew them. 

Dean opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to say more. He growled and dragged Sam’s hand further into his lap. He pried one of Sam’s fingers out and pressed it to the underside of his cock.

Sam froze as Dean rubbed his finger over the spot.

The door opened and Dean stood, leaving Sam sitting there, trying to figure out what the hell Dean had been trying to say.

***

His heart hammered in his chest, not sure how he’d gotten away with that much with Sam. He hadn’t been able to speak the words, and he doubted Sam understood what he’d done, but the fact that he’d managed to touch Sam’s finger to the brand was significant.

Of course, it helped that Clampton hadn’t been his keeper, that he’d been sent to Sam with the barest of orders. Clampton had been distracted prior to sending Dean.

The guard who was his current keeper shoved Dean back into his cell.

Dean paced along his cot, agitated. He had no way on knowing if Sam would be able to put the pieces together. He wasn’t really operating at his best, under the circumstances. He knew the food was drugged, not heavy enough to necessarily knock him out, but enough to keep him unfocused…and the pain didn’t help, not to mention the daily rape.

He had reason to believe that Clampton was still using magic to get into Sam’s dreams too. His brother was barely keeping his shit together…and Dean wasn't far behind him. His resistance to the fucking obedience sigil was meaningless. As long as Clampton gave him a direct command, Dean had no choice but to obey.

He could only hope that Clampton’s distraction, and Dean's subsequent ability to communicate had been enough to make something sink in, to get at least part of a message through to Sam. Not that he knew what good it would do for Sam to figure it out. He was locked in a room with no way out.

He couldn't rely on Sam. He had to think he was past his fucking blind obedience. He had to think past the rules.

The problem was, Clampton was thorough. There were the active rules, the arousal, hurting Sam if he said Dean's name, not being able to tell Sam why or what was going on, and lately servicing the fuck wad as if it was his sole purpose in life. But there were others.

He wasn't allowed to touch doors. He wasn't allowed to hurt anyone but Sam. He wasn't allowed to cross the damn white lines without permission. 

He was screwed. 

There was no way out. Not without help.

***

Something was different.

Dean still came into his cell every five or six hours, and Sam was forced to suck his cock or bend over and let his brother fuck him, then he was fed and watered, taken to the bucket to pee, his back tended to.

But this was the third time Dean sat with him after.

"I know you want to ask me questions." Dean said hesitantly, as if testing each word. "I can't answer all of them."

Sam nodded. He'd gathered that much from their previous talks. "Did…someone do something to you?"

Dean didn't answer, but he didn't move away either when Sam reached a hand across. It felt wrong, touching his brother's dick this way, but Dean didn't stop him. His finger felt for the spot Dean had shown him. The skin was rough, raised. Dean gasped as Sam pulled away, his cock leaking a little.

"Magic?" Sam whispered, shivering. His thoughts skipped over everything he knew about what had happened. It had to do with that stop at that mini mart on Christmas Eve, and magic of some kind…and something was different right now, but not different enough that Dean wasn't obligated to continue the routine.

His head swirled with the things Dean said to him in his dreams, and sometimes while Dean was tormenting him. It made it hard to think. Magic would explain a lot though. Witchcraft.

Dean had said it himself…at least Sam thought he remembered Dean saying it. 

"Someone came into the mini mart that night." Sam said, catching Dean's attention again. Sam could almost see the man's face…almost…

The door to the room slammed open. "You insolent fuck. Get over here now."

Dean was up off the floor and across the room in an instant, dropping to his knees at a single touch from the man that filled the doorway. Rage filled the room as a hand fisted in Dean's hair and yanked his head back. "Did you think I wouldn't know what you were doing?" His hand cracked across Dean's face.

Dean was shoved down, his face on the concrete, his ass in the air.

"If you move I will cut your tongue out and make your brother eat it." The man looked familiar somehow. He stalked to the wall with the riding crops and paddles and pulled a wooden paddle from the wall. It had holes in it, to cut the wind resistance and make each blow strike harder.

Dean's hands clenched into fists, but he stayed still as that paddle came down over and over, against the skin of his naked ass and thighs. He yelled, screamed into the concrete beneath him before it was over.

A leash was thrown at the floor by Dean's head. "Bring your fucktoy. I'm done playing games."

Dean lifted his face from the cement, his hand curling around the leash. His face was red as he climbed slowly to his feet. Sam shrank back instinctively, knowing that whatever was coming was going to be bad. Dean's hand grabbed the ring in his chest and clipped the leash on.

He followed Dean, his knees protesting the crawling on rough floors. Dean's skin was red and mottled, bruises already starting to form. They passed the room where Dean had been forced to whip him, and into an office. At least here the floor was carpeted.

Dean stopped them just inside the room. "Here. Lock him down." The man hit his hand against a table, though as Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him up onto his feet, Sam could see that it had been modified. There were spots on the legs for securing his ankle restraints, and as Dean pushed him down, there was a locking ring that clipped onto the one in his chest.

His hands were pulled behind him and locked together. He was on display, unable to even lift his head much more than a few inches without risking the pulling on his chest.

Jesse Clampton.

Just like that Sam realized who this guy was. He was the one who came into that mini mart. Junior year. 

Clampton's hand came down on the table near Sam's head. "You thought you could get around it, eh Dean?" Sam couldn't see him, but he heard the punches he landed. "I'll show you exactly what you can do. Fuck him. Make it hurt."

Sam braced for it, but Dean's hands knew all the places where Sam was tender and sore. His fingers pressed on scabs, breaking them open, as his pinned Sam's hips to the table and rubbed his cock against Sam's hole. There was no lube, no prep, just the dry burn as Dean shoved into him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grunting as Dean's hips set up a brutal pace. He finally felt the flush of his brother's come and Dean pulled back, his cock leaving Sam's ass with a pop.

"Again." Clampton said, his voice cold.

Sam bit back the whine as Dean's cock sank back into him. Obviously Clampton had control of Dean…was using him to…Sam lost his train of thought as Dean's fingers dug into his skin. Dean was panting above him, sweat dripping from him.

Clampton moved to the opposite end of the table and sat, watching, a sneer across his face. "As you can see, Sam, Dean belongs to me now. He will do anything and everything I tell him to do." He watched silently for a few minutes as Dean continued his assault. "My original plan was to capture you, mark you with obedience…but Dean came instead. So I altered my plan. I was using him to break you…to make you obedient without the mark. It seems, however, your brother can not help but interfere with my plans, even when he's completely under my power."

Clampton stood, coming closer, his hand fisting in Sam's hair and turning his head. "But that's okay. I'm flexible. So now you know. It changes little. You are still mine. And big brother is still going to help me ensure that you behave."

Dean's thrusting sped up and then he stilled and stepped back. 

"Come here, Dean. Let's make sure Sam knows exactly what is happening." Dean's body was glistening with sweat as he stood beside Clampton, his cock unbelievably still hard. Clampton pressed Dean's cock up toward his stomach, revealing the mark that sat at the base, a small, circular brand of a relatively simple design. It wasn't one Sam recognized, but its effects were painfully clear.

"So, you understand, that brand has been sealed in my blood. He responds only to my commands." Clampton pulled Dean's head back, smiling down at him. "He's still him, of course. It amuses me to know he's inside there fuming at being made to do what I want." He released Dean and unzipped his pants. Dean's eyes met Sam's just before he turned his face and began nuzzling at Clampton's groin. "And just so you don't go getting any bright ideas, the only way to remove the compulsion is to remove his dick, even killing me won't release him…in fact, I've built in a base command…"

Clampton's voice trailed off as Dean's mouth closed around his cock and Sam wanted to look away as Dean slurped and moaned around it like it was candy. After a few minutes, Clampton pulled Dean off him. "If I die, Dean dies."

He stroked his cock lightly and smiled at Sam. "And now, it's my turn. You watch, Dean."

Sam held his breath as Clampton shoved into him, held his breath and hoped it would be over quickly. Instead, Clampton was slow, his cock moving on Dean's come inside him. He took his time, his hand petting down over the marks on Sam's back.

"Not to worry, Sam. Soon you will be as eager to serve me as your brother is." Clampton said after he'd come and pulled back. Sam's ass burned as come oozed from it, slipping down his leg. "We've only just begun."

***

Knowing didn’t make it easier.

Dean’s voice filled his ear as they lay together in the dark after Clampton had watched while Dean raped him repeatedly until Dean was dry, then beat him with a bamboo cane. Sam knew the words were Clampton’s, but it didn’t mean they didn’t cut into him.

“You know you deserve it. Even Dad knew you were evil, Sam.”

He was almost through the third run through the set of things Clampton made him repeat. Sam shifted as much as his restraints allowed. Dean fell silent, his eyes closed. “I…I’m done.” 

They both lay on their sides, faces only inches apart. Dean was restrained only by the command not to move. Sam, was locked down, his chest ring attached by a short lead to a bolt in the floor, his arms behind him, over the hot, bloody skin of his back.

The anger was gone from Dean’s voice. Since Clampton had revealed himself, Dean had drawn further away, and Sam couldn’t tell if it was Clampton’s doing, or if Dean was giving up.

“Please.” Sam whispered. “Stay with me.”

Dean’s eyes opened. “Sam…”

“We can’t give up.” Sam whispered. “We have to find a way—“

“No.” Dean shook his head. “There is no way. I can’t even take a piss unless he tells me to.”

“De—“ He stopped himself before he finished his brother’s name. He'd learned that even when Dean was ordered to not move, saying Dean's name triggered the command more deeply embedded to hurt him. "I can't do this alone." Sam whispered.

Lacking any other way to offer comfort or express how desperately he needed his brother, Sam kissed him. Dean gasped, but couldn't move away. "Sam…"

"Just hold on." Sam kissed him again, soft and hoping it was enough.

***

The trembling of his body was part exhaustion, part humiliation. Sam finished licking Clampton clean and lowered his head, hoping that this endless session was over, that he'd be allowed to crawl back into the corner and sleep.

Dean sat numbly watching, the knife in his hands still idly pressed against his wrist. His arm was already marked with wounds he'd been forced to inflict upon himself in Clampton's campaign to get Sam to this place, willingly obeying.

Clampton's hand caressed over the side of Sam's face, nearly gentle. "Have you had enough?"

"Please, m-m-master." Sam choked the word out. His body was heavy, bloody and bruised. His mouth tasted like come and ash. His ass leaked come. At least the two guards had been sent away once they'd had their turns at him.

"What do you think, Dean, has our slut here had enough for today?"

Sam looked up through his hair at Dean who blinked, but never looked up. "He's going to pass out." Dean responded.

He wasn't far from wrong.

"Very well, I have things to see to. Dean, lock your brother down. Both of you sleep a few hours."

Sam held his breath as Clampton stood. Dean's hand touched Sam's head and obediently, Sam crawled toward the corner where Clampton had been making him sleep. He didn't make any sudden moves, didn't speak until the door was closed and Clampton had left them alone. 

Dean still had the knife in his hand.

They both looked at it, then at each other. Weeks they had been here. This was the first time they had been given an opportunity. "Can I…" Sam's hand covered Dean's, slipping over his skin to find the handle of the knife. Dean watched him, his fingers twitching. He had no direct order to not give Sam the knife, or to continue holding it.

Sam pried his fingers loose and the knife fell into his hand. His breath caught and he nodded. "It's okay. It's okay." Sam licked his lips and tucked the knife under the dirty gray blanket that was all he had for a bed.

"Sam." Dean was breathing hard.

"I know." He lay down on his side, his hand ghosting over the ring on his chest. "It's okay. Go ahead."

Dean lifted the short chain that was connected to the bolt in the floor and locked it to the ring. "Lay with me." Sam cajoled, a plan just beginning to form in his head. 

Clampton hadn't been specific about the lock down. Hadn't given Dean direct orders to restrain Sam a certain way. Sam could see his brother trying to decide what to do. He lifted a hand to cup Dean's face. "Lay with me. Keep me warm."

Dean nodded tightly and lowered himself to lay behind Sam, not actually touching him. That had become a part of the things forbidden to them. Dean couldn't touch Sam without an order to, and those were mostly to cause pain.

They lay silently in the dark for a while, Sam fingering the skin around the ring in his chest. Clampton would return, and if he kept to the recent routine, he'd go to bed himself in the next room. He didn't sleep much, the longest Sam had noticed had been four hours, and then he was back to tormenting them, or letting his guards do it while he conducted whatever business he was in.

That was part of the exhaustion, never getting much more than those four hours of sleep at a time, before being abused for hours on end.

"Sam." Dean's voice was barely a whisper, dark and throaty behind him. "K-kill me."

"What?" Sam turned his head, searching for his brother's face, but without rolling over, he couldn't see more than the top of his head…and turning over required more slack in the chain holding him than he had. "No…no."

"Do it now, before he comes back." 

Sam shook his head. "No, this is our chance."

"He'll use me, Sam. I can't…I can't fight any more."

Sam closed his eyes against hot tears. "You can't give up now."

"He’ll can't make me stop you."

“Sleep for now. I’ll think of something.”

Sam let one hand cover the lump of the blanket where the knife lay hidden. He had to be careful. If he killed Clampton, Dean would die, at least that’s what Clampton had said. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he wasn’t willing to risk it either. 

So, he had to wait until Clampton came back, and hope he went to sleep. Then he could…what? If not kill the fucking bastard? They needed to get away…but as long as Dean was under the compulsion to obey, any escape would be short lived. Sam had no idea how many standing orders were programmed into his brother's head.

Bobby.

Sam could get control of Clampton, call Bobby for help. They could find some way around the spell. Of course, that presumed Sam could get control of Clampton. He wasn’t entirely sure of that.

He knew that they couldn’t wait though. Every passing day Sam grew weaker, every beating threatened to put him down for good. It had to be now.

Behind him, Dean’s breathing was soft and even, telling Sam he was asleep. He would stay that way now until he was woken, usually by Clampton yelling for him. Sam lay still and waited, forcing himself not to sleep.

Clampton finally returned, sweeping through the room and into the bedroom. Sam listened for the quiet, then the light snoring…and then he waited a little longer before his hand slipped under the blanket and pulled the knife out.

First step in his plan required getting free. He exhaled and brought the knife to his chest. He bit his lip to keep from yelling, panting through his nose as he cut into the skin. His angle was awkward and the knife kept slipping through fingers that were swollen from being locked in tight cuffs during his beating earlier in the day and slick with blood. 

He managed to pull the metal from his skin after what felt like an eternity and he held a hand to his bleeding chest as he slowly pushed himself up. His next step had to be making sure Clampton was unable to issue orders.

Of course, he had Dean and the guards to consider too.

He put that out of his mind and told himself to focus on Clampton. One thing at a time. He got to his feet and slowly straightened upward. It had been a really long time since he'd stood upright. His back and knees protested, and his right foot, with it's long, raised red welt across the sole, wasn't very happy either.

He took a few shuffling steps and stopped. He was in no shape for what needed to be done. He was bleeding from a half a dozen places, the chest, his back…the exertion had broken open scabs over wounds that ranged from hours to weeks old.

No. This was the only chance he had. He would make it work.

Sam gripped the knife and shuffled toward the bedroom, contemplating the best way to deal with Clampton. He was only going to get one shot.

Clampton lay sprawled across the bed, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. Sam moved closer slowly, as silently as he could. He was going to have to use the knife, not just threaten Clampton with it. Sam didn't have the strength to back up a threat…not without weakening him first. 

He stood over the bed, the knife in his hands. His lung. Sam nodded to himself. He could go for the lung on the right side. It could eventually kill him, but not if Bobby got there fast enough. They could get it taken care of before it killed him.

Sam swallowed and lifted the knife. He had to get it right the first time. He lowered it slowly until the point was just above his skin, angled it so that it would penetrate the rib cage. Sam held his breath and plunged down.

Clampton's eyes opened, his body jerking. Sam covered his mouth, even as he twisted the knife. "Surprised?" Sam asked, pulling his hand from the knife, leaving it stuck into his chest.

Clampton gasped for air, sucking against Sam's hand. He struggled, but was clearly losing the fight. Finally he lay still. Sam checked to make sure he still had a pulse and was breathing with the one good lung, then moved to the cabinet where he knew the bastard kept the gags and blindfolds and such. 

By the time he had Clampton secured, Sam was trembling and sweating. He knew he couldn't stop, not yet. He needed to find a phone, find their clothes. He turned on lights and started emptying the cabinet drawers.

He found a bag under the bed that had Dean's things in it…a half bottle of Jack and a bag of pills, Dean's favorite gun, some of his underwear and socks, their father's journal, and an old phone.

Sam flipped it open. It was one of their back ups. It had half a battery and enough signal to hopefully get a call through. Sam's fingers shook as he dialed Bobby's number.

"It's about damn time!"

Sam's throat closed up and he didn't know what to say suddenly. 

"Dean?"

"Bo—bobby?"

"Sam, is that you?"

"Yeah. Bobby. It's Sam. I need you."

Tears burned down his face. "I…I don't know where we are…but it's bad. We…" He pressed his lips together. "There's a man who has Dean under some kind of spell. I have him…unconscious right now…he's going to need medical help…he's…I think I punctured his lung."

"What kind of spell? What man? Where the fuck are you?"

Sam looked around the bedroom for something to tell him where they were, but there were no windows, no pictures or anything. Then he remembered the desk in the other room. He slipped back into the room, turning on the desk light and rummaging through the stacks of papers. "His name is…Jesse Clampton. We knew him years ago. Here." He angled the paper toward the light. It was a delivery invoice for heavy building supplies. "I think…we're in Wayne, Nebraska. The address on this invoice says 44 West Marshall Road."

"Wayne, I'm about an hour from there. Been looking for you two idjits for weeks."

Sam put the invoice down, his eyes widening as he saw the blood smeared across it. "Shit…shit." He was leaving blood all over the place. "So much blood."

"Sam, calm down."

"Bobby….I don't know if I can…there's guards. Two of them." Sam brushed his bloody hands on his legs. "Shit…I have to clean this up. He's gonna see it." Sam shook his head, that wasn't right. 

"Hold on Sam, I'm on my way. You hear me, Son?"

"Hurry Bobby. If he dies, Dean will die."

Sam hung up the phone and looked at the blood smeared all over the desk, on his legs and stomach…he didn't know what was his and what was Clampton's. Sam knew he should clean up, but there wasn't any water. He was tired…so very tired.

He sank to the floor and crawled to the corner, laying down beside Dean. He kissed his brother softly. "It's okay, Dean. It's okay." Sam closed his eyes. Bobby was coming. Everything would be okay.

***

"Sam?" Bobby crouched beside Sam and Dean, his hand out to touch Sam, but pulling back, afraid the touch would hurt him.

Sam jerked back, blinking up at him. "Bobby…"

There wasn't much skin on the boy that wasn't bruised or bloodied. Beside him, Dean looked untouched. Sam's hands moved to cover his groin, his face an expression of mixed fear, shame and pain.

"This one's alive, but only barely. I've got him stabilized for the moment, but he needs more than I can do here." 

Sam curled up as David came out of the other room. "Sam, this is David Weatherly, do you remember him?"

Sam shook his head and struggled to sit up. "He's the closest I could find to a doctor that wasn't going to get us all into hot water. David, come have a look at Sam."

"I'm okay." Sam insisted, grabbing at Bobby with one hand. "Dean." He turned to his brother who was still asleep somehow. "He's not…" Sam licked his lips. "Clampton marked him with an obedience sigil." Sam was barely whispering.

"He did what?"

David was standing now beside Bobby, his med kit in his hand. "Sam, why don't you let Bobby look after Dean? Let me look at you."

Sam looked like he was going to argue. Bobby cupped a hand to his face. "Please, Son. You don't look good." Sam gave in and let Bobby help him get to his feet. David gathered the boy up and moved him away from the corner to give Bobby space to handle Dean.

Goddamn witches. Bobby took his hat off to scratch at his head. Dean looked almost peaceful. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and shook him once. "Dean. Wake up."

Dean's eyes opened and he sat up immediately, his mouth opening, then closing as his eyes swept the room. He calmed when he spotted Sam, then came back to Bobby. 

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked, watching him closely.

"I…don't know." His face was set hard, his jaw tight. "Don't let me hurt Sam."

"It's okay, Son. We'll figure this out. For now, can you stand?"

Dean nodded and climbed to his feet, apparently unconcerned for his nakedness. "Right, let's find you boys some clothes and get on out of here before those guards of his come to."

It took some doing. Sam was hurt pretty bad. Dean wouldn't look at his brother, and couldn't seem to act on his own much, especially once he'd seen the bastard that Sam had nearly killed…but eventually Bobby got the boys into the Impala and David had the other guy secured in the back of his camper.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Bobby asked Dean when they were on the road and Sam was asleep in the back seat.

"I don't…no. Not really." Dean responded, sitting dully beside him. "Rules."

Bobby nodded. He didn't know a lot about spells like this one, but from the look he'd gotten at the bastard's collection of supplies and the like, this wasn't going to be an easy one to break. "Okay, how about I tell you what I think I see and you try to tell me if I'm right?"

Dean didn't answer exactly, but Bobby pressed onward. "So, this Clampton guy snagged you and did his mojo on you, then used you to get Sam?" Dean's hands clenched up on his knees. "And he made you hurt Sam?"

It was more than just hurt Sam. Both boys had been sexually assaulted, and judging by both of their reactions, Dean had been forced to rape his brother. Bobby's hands tightened on the wheel. Any spell strong enough to do that might be a spell that couldn't be undone. "Sam said he marked you, with a sigil. Where?"

Dean's hands fell to cover his crotch. 

Bobby cursed every curse word he could think of in as many languages as he could remember in his head. "It's okay, Dean," he said out loud. "We'll figure it out."

***

Dean knew it wasn't okay…the things he'd done to Sam…there was no way that would ever be okay. He knew Bobby knew it too.

Dean sat on the chair in Bobby's kitchen, unable to move, unable to even get up and go to the bathroom. Somewhere upstairs Clampton lay dying, and with him, Dean's chance of ever getting free was dying too.

"Bobby." Dean's voice was ragged, but it pulled Bobby's attention from the book he was flipping through.

"No." Sam interrupted from the doorway. 

"Stay out of it Sam." Dean said, his eyes flipping to his brother.

"Dean, no." 

At least that gave him impetus to move. Dean stood, grabbing Sam by the hair before landing a punch in his stomach. "Fuck." 

Sam sank to his knees beside him, still shaking his head. "Please, don't…we'll find an answer."

Dean managed to get his fingers to loosen up and let go of Sam…or to be honest, he reverted to the standing order not to touch Sam unless he was ordered to. He knew they wouldn't find any other answer. Aside from cutting off his dick completely, there was no removing the damn compulsion to obey, and there was no guarantee that would work.

"Sam, please." Dean closed his eyes. He wanted to comfort his brother, to touch him, but he couldn't even go back to sitting down. Bobby seemed to understand that much at least, coming to join Sam. 

Wordlessly, Bobby pushed Dean back into the chair. Sam turned his face up, wiping at the tears spilling down his face. "I can't live like this, Sammy." Dean said softly. "I'm sitting here in my own pee."

Sam shook his head. "Just…one more day."

Hot tears spilled down Dean's face now too. Sam's hands settled on his, squeezing. "You're all I have left."

"Bobby." Dean could see the understanding in Bobby's eyes, the sadness and hurt and Bobby nodded. He left the room and came back a minute later, putting Dean's gun on the table.

Sam curled forward, his face on Dean's knee.

"Please Sam." Dean whispered. "I don't want to hurt you any more."

Bobby's hand fell on Sam's shoulder. Sam lifted a tear stained face. "Give us a minute?"

Bobby nodded and leaned in to kiss the top of Dean's head before he walked away wordlessly. Sam's eyes closed. "Promise me that you'll let Bobby deal with Cl—master. Fuck." Even now he couldn't call the bastard anything but that. "Sam…you…you go back to school."

"I don't know if I can."

"Forgive me?" Dean's voice cracked. 

Sam's eyes met his. "Everything," he responded. He rose up off his knees and brushed his lips across Dean's. "Always."

Dean felt the cool metal of the gun pressed into his hands. "I don't know if I can…"

Sam kissed him again, his hands circling Dean's. "I'm not leaving you." Sam's breathing was tight and short as he lifted his face from Dean's.

"I love you, Sammy." Dean whispered as Sam helped him lift the gun. "Remember that."

"I love you too."

 

Bobby jumped when the shot rang out. He sank wearily onto the stairs, head in his hands. The second shot caught him off guard, and he looked up, uncertain.

The house was quiet then.

And all Bobby was left with was to the trash slowly suffocating to death upstairs.


End file.
